Page 67 of From the Myths of Kings

“I’ll come back for you,” Saoirse vowed. “I promise to free you from this prison if it’s the last thing I do.” She wasn’t sure how she would manage it, but she would. She would save her mother even if it cost her everything. That coffin she’d buried in the sea eight years ago was empty; it had always been empty.

And she would keep it that way.

Her mother didn’t believe her. Saoirse could see the pity and resignation that slipped over her gaunt face like a veil. But her mother gave a gentle nod and plastered a false smile across her face. “My brave girl. I love you.” Eleyera’s skeletal frame was more pronounced as her ragged clothing was soaked through by the swelling waves. “Leave now, before it is too late.”

And then Saoirse and Rook were splashing down the tunnel, her mother’s eyes vanishing back into the shadows as though she were never there. Every agonizing step away from her mother felt like hot coals burning into the soles of Saoirse’s scarred feet. Blood pounded in her ears as Rook dragged her along, their slippery, tangled fingers cold as fish scales.

She barely registered the rapid surging of the water or the shuddering cave walls as she replayed her mother’s cryptic revelations. Saoirse thought they’d learned everything there was to know about shrouded conspiracies and long-forgotten lore, but apparently, she’d only just cracked the surface of a mountain of even more secrets. Just as the Myths of Old were convoluted and conflicting, her own understanding of reality seemed flawed. With Rymir’s betrayal and the revelation of Ballar’s innocence, the line between myth and reality had become muddled and blurred. It was now even more imperative that they survive Grivur’s games and defeat Selussa. She and Rook needed to find the truth once and for all. All of it.

Saoirse pushed the overwhelming waves of emotion back behind that mental wall, confining them to a prison she’d face later. She forced herself to focus on getting out of the flooded tunnels alive.

They ran through the labyrinth of stone pathways for what seemed like an hour, muscles burning as the water harried their every stride. Rook’s fingers never strayed from Saoirse’s. A metal plate embedded into the stone appeared every so often, confirming they were headed in the right direction. In some sections of the tunnels, they had to crawl under low-hanging ceilings, their faces only inches above the waves. Rook’s bulky wings made it difficult to squeeze through the tight channels of stone, but at least he had consistent air to breathe.

As they turned a sharp corner, Saoirse’s heart leaped to her throat. A dead end. She frantically looked for an alternative passage. The water that had chased them down the tunnel lapped against the barricade of rock. With nowhere else to go, the rise of the tide began to accelerate, clawing up to their waists.

“There!” Rook cried, pointing to a small opening on the ceiling. The shoulder-width hole loomed several feet above them. Rook meshed his fingers together, forming a stirrup-like foothold. “I’ll lift you.”

Saoirse slipped her foot into his hands and steadied herself against his broad shoulders. Rook lifted her carefully, pushing her up to the hole in the ceiling. She could feel his arms trembling as he lifted her, whether from fatigue or fear, she couldn’t tell. His forehead pressed against her abdomen as she struggled to find a hold on the lip of the fissure, hands slick against the rough stone. She wasn’t quite high enough. Sensing her futile efforts, Rook adjusted his hold and gingerly brought her legs into a standing position on his shoulders. She winced as his hands slipped over her bare calves and feet. Was he horrified by the mangled scars that curved over her skin? She nearly lost her balance, but his strong hands pressed firmly against the small of her back and never let go.

Mercifully, the extra inches of height allowed Saoirse to dig her fingers into a hold. She pulled herself up through the opening, every inch of her exhausted body screaming with effort. Once her legs slipped over the edge, she turned back to look down on Rook from above.

The water was churning against his shoulders now. His face flushed with panic as he raised his arms up to her. Saoirse lay down on her stomach, the uneven rock floor cutting through her thin shift as she stretched her hands through the opening. She could feel his searching fingertips graze against hers, but they slipped out of her hold. She leaned further into the hole, grimacing as the jagged edge tore against the soft undersides of her arms.

That horrible grating sound suddenly echoed down the tunnel again, evidence of the flooded tunnels rearranging themselves. She watched in horror as the water rushed into the dead end even faster, swelling up to Rook’s jaw. The tunnel was being compressed, the rock walls collapsing in on itself like soft clay buckling on a potter’s wheel.

“Reach!” she cried, half from pain and half from desperation.

The tunnel was sealing itself up like a tomb, pushing the waves down the dead end. She leaned further through the hole, feeling her skin tear. At last, she grabbed a hold of Rook’s hands. She pulled him up with as much strength as she could muster, screaming as the rock cut into her arms. Rook kicked against the water, using the rising tide to his advantage. Her nails dug into his forearms as she used her weight to yank him through the small hole. The rugged opening probably felt like Hel against his folded wings, but she didn’t falter even as he hissed with pain. When he made it into the narrow passageway, the momentum of her straining launched them both against the floor. The hole filled up just as his feet slipped through, pushing one last surge of water into the chamber.

They lay exhausted on the floor, chests heaving as they stared at the cavernous ceiling that unspooled above them. The bioluminescent moss that shone down on them reminded her of the night sky. Saoirse waited for her racing heartbeat to recede before she sat up and analyzed her bloodied arms. The jagged opening had torn her skin to ribbons, but oddly, she didn’t feel pain anymore.

“Titans, Saoirse,” came Rook’s voice. He scrambled over to her, eyes bright with horror as he took in the cuts that latticed down her upper arms.

“It’s all right,” she offered hurriedly. “We’re both alive, and that’s what matters. You don’t look very good yourself.” Her eyes skimmed over Rook’s blood-streaked wings. She was surprised he had even made it through the opening at all.

“We may be alive, but we haven’t made it out yet,” he broke off, eyes looking beyond Saoirse’s shoulder. “Wait.”

She turned, relief washing over her when she found the dim light that spilled into the cavern at the end of the chamber. It was blue, the color of eternal flames. She was suddenly aware of how much fresher the air felt against her smarting skin. “We made it,” she breathed. “We survived.”

Together, they rose on shaking legs. Saoirse leaned against Rook as they limped toward the light. She was desperate to be free of these Titans-damned tunnels, but she felt strangely saddened that they would be parted yet again, separated by bars of iron in a stale prison block. She thought of her mother, still trapped in her cell under miles of stone, wreathed in darkness.

She stopped for a moment, looking up at Rook. His sapphire blue eyes burned like embers against the night. She could feel her mental wall cracking, every unearthed secret and knife-sharp emotion she’d shoved away threatening to burst through any moment. Her knees threatened to buckle from the weight of it all. She thought of the next trial, of all the impossible tasks set before her.

“We may have survived this, but the storm has yet to begin. It’s almost upon us, Rook. I can feel it nearing with every step. I don’t know if I will be able to weather it.”

His fingers found her jaw, tilting her face up to his own. His eyes pierced her soul. “You don’t have to weather the storm, Saoirse. You are the storm. Your winds are merciless and your waves unyielding. You are a drowning tide. I would gladly drown in your undercurrent, in your storm. Neither Selussa nor all the ancient magic of this world will be able to withstand your might.”

Saoirse pulled his face to hers, lips finding his own. She could feel his hands in her wet hair, gentle as spring rain. She was terrified of what was to come, but for the first time in a long time, she knew she wasn’t alone. She wished they had more time, more everything.

As they broke apart, the world came caving in. Underguards spilled into the chamber, brandishing torches and gleaming onyx spears. Violent light seeped into the cave-like scorching fire, burning up the momentary safety Saoirse had felt in Rook’s arms. Too soon, a hood was thrown over her head and her arms twisted behind her back.

The last thing she saw was Rook’s piercing blue eyes, bright as the dawn. As she was shoved from the cave, she heard his voice echoing like a song in her ears: I would gladly drown in your undercurrent, in your storm.

Saoirse straightened her back, rejecting the fear that nipped at her heels like frost on new leaves. She would face the final trial with her head held high. She would face Selussa’s wrath with a smile on her lips. And if she should die, she would fight until the end.

I am the storm.

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